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Oops. I screwed up the "small t" timeline between chapters 20 and 21—it's what happens when you don't write chapters in order, I guess. I'm going to change the last scene in Chapter 20, currently happening in the early morning, to the mid-to-late afternoon. The bulk of *this* chapter takes place in the late evening, early night.
From Chapter 20:
He rested his forehead against the glass again. And what an interruption it had been….not one that he could have imagined….how could he have even imagined it?
It was such a mess. Because it wasn't supposed to go this way. He shook his head. Though tonight's events had proven that, even if there had been a delay in the proceedings, Lucy had understood his ramblings that morning on the MI catwalk... But it was still all wrong.
Because Lucy's plan was supposed to have worked. But it didn't. Because of course they hadn't stopped it, they hadn't changed things. He hadn't freed himself….and he certainly hadn't helped her. Because not defeating Rittenhouse, and not stopping the time-travelling madness, was no doubt cosmically bad for the Universe, but, somehow, it seemed even worse than that….for Lucy.
Instead of being defeated, Rittenhouse had given them the middle finger—a giant middle finger.
And now, things were infinitely worse.
Chapter 21, AKA my AU Season 2:
An hour had passed, and she hadn't returned to Mason Industries.
And she hadn't replied to his texts.
Rufus hadn't seen her, and neither had Agent Christopher. He asked Christopher to contact Lucy's security detail….and she informed him that Homeland had told the detail to step down that morning, as they were no longer needed. He didn't miss the teasing tone in Christopher's voice when she made her next comment, about Lucy probably just being late because traffic was bad on the highway, and that he really needed to relax. And that comment prompted him to google any nearby traffic accidents with a whole new concern taking over his heart…. But there was nothing. So he sat, pretty much on his hands, feeling the dread build and expand inside him like an inflating balloon, and watching the clock tick off another ten minutes. Then he'd texted twice more and called once, without a response, before he allowed the realization to finally fill him, that, somehow, she was in serious trouble. And yet, how could she be? Trouble was supposed to be behind them, wasn't it?
What kind of errand had she needed to run anyway? Knowing he was probably acting irrationally, but wholly unable to stop himself, he yelled at anyone and everyone in earshot at MI to text him the minute she appeared, and then went out to the parking lot, got in his truck, and started driving. He treated it like a military op—tracing her common routes, targeting her known frequented locations—the bar they drank at after missions, the pharmacy she and Jiya went to every time they needed time-appropriate make-up, the diner they would grab a burger at when they returned to the present at 3am, still feeling like it was 5pm from a jump…. But there was nothing. Nothing.
Rufus had sent him Lucy's Mother's land line number. He called it. No answer.
He drove further afield, to the University….just moving up and down the streets, looking for any sign of her car. Still nothing. There was only one place left to look….and he knew he'd been putting it off, because what was he going to do if she wasn't there? Sending her yet another text, and once again getting no response, he gritted his teeth and started driving toward Carol Preston's house.
He was only a few blocks away when his phone chimed—Lucy's chime. Thank God. He yanked the truck to the shoulder and screeched to a stop, ignoring the scandalized look he received from the woman walking her tiny dog that he'd come within feet of flattening. Lucy was okay, she had texted him…..he opened the screen, reading:
*Make up excuse for Christopher. Need You. At your place.*
What? She was at his pl….. she need….? He never let himself even complete the thought, instead throwing the truck in drive and making a hasty U-turn to get to his place as fast as humanly possible.
He threw open his door, calling her name—to be greeted by darkness, and silence. What was going on? He nudged the door closed and locked it, saying her name again, softer this time, and turned on a lamp as he entered the living area. Still no response. He scanned the empty couch, the empty chair….glanced toward the kitchen, seeing it was in darkness as well. He was about to go check the bedroom when he saw it—a tiny movement on the opposite side of the room, in between the far arm of the couch and the wall. He crossed the room in two quick strides….to see a figure curled in a ball on the floor, in the corner, in the dark….
"Lucy?" he whispered, kneeling down and giving the couch a shove to give them more space.
She didn't respond.
"Luce?"
She looked up slightly, just enough for him to see her red-rimmed eyes, her haggard stare…. He sat and pulled her into his lap, bringing his arms around her, and she started to cry. Not soft crying of sadness or remorse, but harrowing sobs of devastation that wrenched from her body—closer to screams than tears…. He held her tighter, kissing her hair, rocking her slightly, trying desperately to sooth her.
"Luce, Luce….talk to me….what is it?"
Still no response beyond the continued sobs.
"Lucy—I need you to talk to me….I need to know if you're hurt…..are you hurt baby—"
There was a jerking movement from her head that might have been an indication of no….but he had to be sure. He placed his hand under her chin, gently pressing up until their eyes met again. She stilled for a heartbeat.
"Lucy, are you hurt?"
A tiny shake of the head again, almost imperceptible….then she found her voice, "N-no. Not hurt. Wyatt, I—" her shoulders shook and the tears returned—different this time, less primal….but no less heart-rending. She dropped her head again against her folded arms, leaving him unable to read her eyes….hiding from him any more possible clues of what was going on.
He hugged her to him again, shifting slightly so that he could lean against the wall. She wasn't hurt….and that meant he could wait. She would tell him what was going on, what could have affected her so, when she could. He rocked her slightly again, smoothing her hair with his hand, holding her close.
They sat that way for nearly twenty minutes. She had tried to say something to him, a few times….but each time she had been overcome—her words blending with her tears until he could no longer make them out….and he would kiss her hair again, shushing her gently, telling her it was okay, it would wait.
After another few minutes, she tried to talk to him again. And this time she was successful.
To say the information had stunned him would be an understatement. His mind started trying to make sense of it, trying to connect the dots….because all of them on this mission were connected to Rittenhouse in some way, that much was clear….but Lucy was connected through her biological father, Benjamin Cahill, and—How do you think her father met her mother, idiot? He didn't know what to say, what to do….and she was crying again, probably at his lack of useful response….or, no….don't be a self-centred ass Logan….because of….just everything. Her sobs threatened to intensify and he held her tighter. She found her voice again—railing against her family, her history, her fate…. He just kept holding her, shaking on the inside….wanting to scream right along with her. Because she didn't deserve any of this….none of it, at all. Her mother, her father…. Him.
He almost told her he was Rittenhouse too, right then and there—to get her to go—to force her to leave him, and to never look back. But he couldn't. She needed him, she trusted him….even when she shouldn't have. And she had shown him, by coming to his apartment that he was maybe the only person left that she trusted like that—and he couldn't turn his back on her….not that night. And he hated himself for that fact. But he once again pushed aside the Rittenhouse compartment, and allowed the Lucy compartment to fill his mind and heart and soul. And as happened every time he did this, he realized that, the reality was, he was the one who needed her. Needed her to help him actually feel, to be alive….and to hope.
He had comforted her, as best he could, both with words and with just being there. Eventually, he'd been able to coax her onto the couch. She'd stopped crying, and before he could even ask what she needed, what he could do—she seemed to turn on an emotional dime. Eyes suddenly dry, she squared her shoulders and turned to face him.
"I need to go to Mason Industries. I need to tell Christopher everything I know."
She was all business now…..and it made Wyatt uneasy, to see her push all those emotions away….just like that. Sitting down beside her on the couch, he proceeded cautiously. "Well….that's a possible plan. But it's getting late, and they're busy with arrests…."
"She has to know….it could be important."
He nodded. "You're right. How 'bout I text her the basic info, and we'll go from there?" He stood again, trying to locate his cell phone. He found it after a moment, on the floor where he had dropped it at the first site of Lucy. Scooping it up, he was about to send a note to both Christopher and Rufus when he realized the significant number of texts he'd received since abandoning his phone…. He moved back to the couch, sitting beside her again. She must have recognized the look of new concern on his face.
"What is it?"
"Rittenhouse has the Mothership."
"What? No. How? We need to go back, tell them—"
"Hang on, I just sent a text, letting Agent Christopher and Rufus know you're safe….and the new….complication."
"But—we can't just sit here…."
His phone pinged and he held it up to show her. "It's Agent Christopher—telling us to do exactly that. They're dealing with the Mothership situation, she'll look into any info on your m—on Carol, but we're to hold tight tonight, and repot to MI tomorrow morning."
"No, we have to…." She trailed off, then started over, "I can't let my Mother….this is my fault, I should have—"
"No." He said emphatically, "Lucy the last thing this is is your fault. Your Mother lied to you, there's no way you could have known. And you haven't even had time to process any of this yet….we need to….." he shook his head, "I don't know." He glanced over at her, and saw the tears threatening again. "I'm so sorry, Luce."
He tried to hold her to him as the tears started to come, but she pulled back, blinking madly….holding back the storm….until she couldn't any longer. As the tears came back, she leaned into him, seemingly giving herself permission to be vulnerable again. After a few minutes she calmed….sniffing and hiccoughing as she brought her head back from his shoulder, and met his eyes.
"S….sorry. I got your shirt wet."
He couldn't help but chuckle. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
She straightened, then, moving her body away from his….and returned to that all-business-Lucy, from earlier. "I don't know what's wrong with me….I shouldn't—"
"Don't," he put his hand on her elbow, "It's okay—I can't even imagine—"
"No, it's not okay," she said. "I….I'm stronger than this...I don't want to be this way….here."
He stared at her in shock, then collected himself; facing her on the couch and moving his hand from her elbow to her knee. "Lucy…. First of all, you are one of the….no, you're the strongest person I know….and after all my tours of duty, I know a lot of badass people." He didn't miss the way she bit her lower lip at that comment. "And, second of all….and this is really, really important—you never have to hide things, not in front of me. We're partners—teammates, right?
She nodded.
Partners and teammates who kiss and cuddle his mind supplied, but he pushed that thought back. "And, more importantly….we're friends….and we trust each other." He shrugged, absently rubbing his hand in a circle on her knee. "And what good is it having friends, unless you can show them how you're feeling...show them the real you? Cry on their shirt a little when you need to? He brushed away a single errant tear from her face.
She nodded again. "Okay."
"Good. Now….what do you need? What can I get for you?"
She shook her head, "N-nothing. Not unless you have a machine to turn this all into just another nightmare."
He scrunched his nose at her, "Why, 'cause you don't have enough excitement in your life with a time machine….you need a dream-state one too?"
She shrugged slightly, but remained still.
He was disappointed, he had hoped for a chuckle….or at least a smile.
"Speaking of dreams…." Not finishing his thought, he slowly moved sideways and stood, then went down the hall to his bedroom.
"Wyatt?" she called after him.
"Give me a sec," he answered.
He returned, carrying a bundle of clothes in his arms. "Your sweats from the duffle bag," he said in response to her questioning gaze. "More comfortable to sleep in."
"I can't sleep….not tonight."
"Well, try at least," he watched as she shook her head. "Humour me?"
She sighed, another few tears escaping, but she managed to stay in control this time. She stood on shaky legs and grabbed the sweats from him, moving down the hall toward the washroom. "Fine, I'll change….but only to humour you."
When she returned, he was back on the couch, a bottle of whisky and two glasses sitting on the coffee table.
"We're drinking?" she asked.
"Somehow seemed like a good plan," he said, "Especially if either of us is going to get any sleep tonight."
She sat down beside him, sighing, "Can't argue with that." She picked up a glass, angling it toward him, "Don't be stingy, soldier."
"Yes, ma'am," he shot her a sad smile, pouring her drink and then one for himself. He watched as she leaned back against the cushions, letting her eyes fall closed.
"We'll figure this out tomorrow….I promise Lucy."
She shook her head, opening her eyes as she took a sip of her drink. "I don't...I don't want to talk about it anymore tonight….I can't."
He nodded. "Okay." He took a sip of his own drink, trying desperately to think of a way to make it better, a way he could possibly ease her pain….
"Talk to me."
"What?" He wondered if it was possible he'd said that last bit out loud.
"Tell me a story, make me smile."
He watched her for a moment, until she turned her head, catching his gaze again as she took another drink.
"Please."
He nodded, "I can do that."
So he'd launched into a series of stories about life on a military base, and about the misadventures that always seemed to follow his team around during down-time in places far from home. He steered clear of stories of his childhood, stories of his Grandpa….anything that might bring her own mind back to…..Carol. And he'd been successful, in making her smile. He'd even made her laugh, just a little, talking about some of the outrageous practical jokes in camp. And he kept feeding her whisky, pouring a little more, whenever her glass was empty—just hoping it would help her relax….maybe even put it out of her mind….just long enough to sleep.
And when she finally did fall asleep against him on the couch, or more precisely passed out, he supposed—from a combination of a little whisky and a whole lot of emotional exhaustion—he lifted her up and carried her to his room, to tuck her into bed.
He sat with her for close to an hour on the bed, just making sure. Just making sure that—if she needed him—he would be there. Making sure that—if she awoke—she wouldn't be alone.
Lucy's Mother was Rittenhouse. And he hadn't been able to warn her. And he should have been able to….because he should have known….he should have been able to put it all together. Just that afternoon….he'd stood there, making a fool of himself, talking about possibilities. How ridiculous had he been then? Thinking that they'd done it, that they'd really taken out Rittenhouse….that he was free to carry on with his life. And now….
He should have seen this revelation coming. After all, he knew how Benjamin Cahill operated, and he'd suspected Noah, ever since Rittenhouse had stormed the secret warehouse so quickly after Noah had patched up Rufus. He wondered—had the Noah penny dropped yet, for Lucy?
But he had been certain about Noah. And, if Cahill and Noah was Rittenhouse, then he should have been able to make that other link….that link that changed everything. It didn't take that much imagination to understand how a clandestine group obsessed with founding families and purity of the line might work.
But he hadn't seen it coming—hadn't seen Carol Preston coming. He hadn't made the link….probably because he'd been so bound up in the idea of stupid possibilities.
And now, that was another failure that was all on him. A failure that Lucy had taken the brunt of it. Yet another failure that had caused her pain.
He had turned his attention back to her, softly snoring beside him, in a deep sleep. He sat with her a little longer, just glad that this was something that he could do right for her this night….that he could provide her with safety, with shelter. Glad that she was hopefully finding some peace, in a night full of strangeness and sorrow.
Eventually, he decided that perching on the side of the bed and staring at her might be viewed by some—and probably even by Lucy—as creepy, rather than endearing. He also recognized that he'd be more good to her the next day if he got some sleep himself. He wasn't sure how to navigate the question of sleeping arrangements when she was unconscious…. Yes, they'd shared the bed the night before….but that had been her suggestion….and he didn't want to assume….
Crap. Why was this so hard? They cuddled, they slept in the same bed, they'd even kissed….and he had no idea what any of it meant. And, given his speech from earlier that day….he didn't even know how to talk about it. But maybe that was the thing. The kisses, the bed sharing….the possibilities…. He was going to have to put a hold on all of it, if he was going to stay sane….because he couldn't—he wouldn't—travel any further down that path with her before he told her the truth about him….about his Rittenhouse history…. But how could he ever do that now?
He watched her for another few minutes of indecision. He knew what he should do….but the thought of getting out of that bed—of not having that contact with her—was excruciating. Eventually, though, he carefully rose from the bed so as not to wake her, grabbed the spare pillow, and headed back toward the living room.
Gently closing the bedroom door behind him, he had started carrying the pillow toward the couch. He saw a flash of movement by the front door in his peripheral vision. By the front door that had most definitely been locked. He turned toward the entryway, seeing the deadbolt turn….and the door swing open. The now most definitely unlocked door admitted a woman he had never seen before….yet who seemed vaguely familiar. He dropped the pillow and went for his gun—too late remembering that he had taken it off while on the couch with Lucy, when she had complained about the cold of the metal against her arm.
He stood stock still watching, as the very familiar looking woman—Crap, I know who this is—stepped inside, and closed the door behind her.
"Who are you?
"Spare me, Master Sergeant Logan, you know exactly who I am".
And of course, he did. He furtively searched for his damn cell phone….until he spotted it across the room, on his coffee table….beside his gun. Okay, new plan Logan….STALL, 'till your brain can come up with something useful….
"How did you open the….you would need a key…."
"That's what you're hung up on here, Logan? A key?" she revealed a small key in her hand, waving it in his direction slightly. Do you really think that we need a key to get to you?"
"Give me my key back."
"Fine, if it will make you feel better…. Here, have it," she tossed the silver key the short distance between them, and, not expecting the action, he barely caught it, scooping his hand underneath it just before it struck the hardwood.
"Where did you get it?"
She shook her head at him. "I am capable of having a key cut, Master Sergeant. I noticed it that very first day she added it to her keychain. I never asked, but I knew it was for your apartment. After all, by then she seemed to be spending more time here than with me. Still does, I suppose. And how do you think I'm supposed to feel about that fact?" The corner of her mouth turned up slightly, "Though….I probably can't blame her."
He glanced at the bedroom door behind him. "That key didn't belong to you." He knew he was practically babbling now, but he was trying to think, to figure out what his plan was here….or better yet, figure out what her plan was here.
She shot him an incredulous look. "Really? And they told me you were bright. Let me teach you an important lesson here, Logan: My house….my key."
She took another step into his apartment, looking around with a casual air. She glanced toward the coffee table, at the whisky bottle.
"She never could hold her liquor. I hope you didn't waste the expensive stuff on her. I presume she's passed out in the other room?" She nodded her head toward the bedroom door. Wyatt shifted his body again—to stand in front of the door, like a barrier.
Carol Preston wandered into his living room, picking up the whisky bottle and examining it. She turned her head back to him and flashed a big smile.
"Interesting."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? And he didn't even know what to do with the fact that this woman was now wandering through his living room like they were old friends. He watched as she put the bottle down, and continued walking the length of the room—ignoring his gun and cell phone, but instead focusing in on his end table. As though suddenly having found exactly what she was looking for, she knelt down to examine a small stack of books on the lower shelf. She pushed the front three books to the side, and pulled out a large hard-cover tome from the back.
Lucy's Lincoln book.
She returned to her feet and turned around—with a delighted look on her face—displaying the book for him to see.
"A little light reading, Logan?" She arched an eyebrow at him, in a way that was so reminiscent of Lucy, it was almost frightening. "You really do have it bad, don't you?"
He moved sideways slowly, keeping his body between Carol and the door to the bedroom.
She set the book down on the top shelf of the table, and began walking back across the room toward him. She paused, when she was only about four feet from him….and from the bedroom door….and from Lucy.
"You can't have her."
She let out a short laugh. "I'm not here for her."
She took a small step back, and put her hands on her hips. "What do you think she'd say, to know I'm here?"
He stepped forward, hoping to cause her to step back again, further away from Lucy. But she held her ground.
"Get out," he said.
Wyatt allowed himself the brief luxury of mentally going through the various ways he could kill her right now—even without his gun. He was pretty sure there was nothing she could do to stop him, if he made the decision to snap her neck. In the second it took that image to play out in his mind, he was struck by the utter madness that had enveloped his world. He could do it, he could break her neck, right here, in his living room, with her daughter sleeping on the other side of the bedroom door….and he had no frickin' clue how Lucy would feel about that. Although it certainly wouldn't make her happier….which meant it wasn't worth it. He wouldn't be responsible for causing her more pain. So instead, he stood his ground, glaring at Carol Preston.
"Get out?" she chuckled, "What? And leave before we even do our business?"
He tried to control the flash of surprise that he suspected she could see on his face.
"Lucy put Cahill and his whole network behind bars with your team's little stunt today. Surely you knew you'd be assigned a new handler? Besides which, I figured it was important to make sure that we're still on the same page. And, of course, given today's events….there is a new mission-new mission parameters—to be delivered by me, and accepted….by my asset."
Wyatt stepped back, as though hit.
She peered at him, a thin smile on her lips. "What? Isn't this the way this whole thing works? We meet, and you have to ask the question—you have to ask me for the new mission objectives and parameters. It really is all very cloak and dagger, isn't it? I can understand why Cahill might have enjoyed it.
He shook his head. "No. that's not what's going to happen. You don't get to make the rules. You don't even know….anything. Lucy—she will destroy you."
Carol shook her head. "How? Having her dear old Grandpa collect info on us? Clever, I'll admit, but she's not going to destroy us!" She nodded slightly. "No, it's just a little rebellion, and we all do that." She inclined her head toward him slightly. "Well, I suppose you don't. But that's the difference….between us and people like you. I always knew that one day Lucy would rebel. I will admit, she did it in rather spectacular fashion, but I wouldn't have expected any less from her."
"And what are all your Rittenhouse buddies going to think of this….of what your daughter was able to do?"
He wasn't expecting the laugh that flowed easily from Carol at that comment.
"Oh, Sergeant Logan. I'm not particularly sad to have Cahill's faction under wraps for a few years! And neither are most of my closest associates. You know, in many ways, it's worked out well."
"What?"
"I told Lucy earlier, how proud everyone is of her!"
He stared at her.
"What, you really don't think we're all one big happy Rittenhouse family, do you? You know enough about history by now to know that there are always factions in the groups that matter….always scheming and machinations. Always differing opinions on who is really in charge….or who should be." She nodded in his direction. "Like I said, we all had to thank Lucy's team—your team—for cleaning house for us. Ethan Cahill—he was never truly trusted….he never rose high enough in the hierarchy to truly understand the scope of things….he wasn't prominently enough placed to be able to identify anyone beyond his father's faction."
She turned slightly, seeming to look in curiosity at Wyatt's living room again, then turned back to face him. "You know, matching me with Cahill….that was supposed to bring the two bickering sides of Rittenhouse together. So much for that thought! Though apparently, all it took was our daughter to wipe one whole side of things off the proverbial map for a while….which to me seems much simpler, than bringing us together, don't you agree?"
Wyatt stepped forward again, and was relieved to see Carol take a small step back, conceding him another foot of safety between her and the bedroom door. "So," he began slowly, "Tell me Carol….if you and Ben were supposed to bring everyone together….solve all of Rittenhouse's woes….why wasn't Lucy aware that Cahill was her biological father? Why didn't you two secret society pawns just live happily ever after?"
"Pawns! I think you hurt my feelings, Wyatt." She looked appalled for a moment, but then her facial features grew calm. She shook her head. "Why not just live happily ever after, you ask? Because Cahill's been a screw up his whole life. I mean, of course I refused to marry him. The rest of it….well, it's how it works, when you're Rittenhouse—same as it's worked in the noble classes for centuries. Produce your strong blood line offspring, and then...do what, or who you need to do to live your life, to make you happy. There was never any chance I was actually going to marry Benjamin Cahill." She shrugged. "Even though he certainly begged me enough. But, I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand these things."
"Wait, so….you and Cahill….when you knew that you weren't going to—"
"Oh—don't give me that scandalized look, Wyatt. It wasn't even that big deal, in the eighties." Now, my Mother, Lucy's Grandmother? Now she was one for scandal. Mid-1940s Atlanta—Southern belle, you know. Had to marry her Rittenhouse match, back then. But that didn't stop her! She'd bring her multiple lovers over to the house….and her doting husband would serve them drinks before….well, you can imagine." She smirked at him, smoothing her hands across her jacket. "Preston women, and the men who love them, eh?" She nodded her head, "But then you know something about that, don't you?"
They stared at each other, for another beat.
She seemed like she was about to say more, but didn't. Instead, she seemed to have made a decision to bring things back to business. Just like her daughter would.
"So, the question remains…. What are we going to do with you? We left Cahill in charge of you too long—he was never cut out for asset management. I'd actually laid the groundwork of taking over your portfolio a couple of months ago, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you can imagine….lots of boring paperwork." She smiled sardonically. But it wasn't all bad. In fact, I just took a little drive up the coast!
Wyatt's face went pale.
"I had a lovely visit with your grandfather. Fascinating man, 98 Years old—and still has most of his wits about him! And can he ever tell a story."
"You're bluffing. He would never have admitted you as a guest."
She simply grinned.
Suddenly Wyatt realized that this was bad….this was very bad.
"Oh, you mean the instruction you gave him not to admit guests who said they worked with you? He mentioned that to me! Good thing that wasn't the direction I had decided to go."
She paused, and they stared at each other for another moment. Eventually, he watched as a small smile played at her lips. "No, I didn't tell him we worked together. Instead, I told him that his grandson was sweet on my daughter, and that I had heard so much about him, I just had to come meet him.
Wyatt took what he hoped was a menacing step toward her.
"Well, It was all the truth, wasn't it? Whole thing went really well—he even said you had mentioned Lucy a couple times, in your phone calls." She smiled, "Um, that reminds me, he said to let you know that he's expecting the two of you to stop by together to see him, sometime in the next couple of weeks."
The anger that had been building in him since she stepped through the door bubbled over, "If you do anything to—"
She rolled her eyes. "Get over yourself Wyatt. Do you actually think I'd kill a ninety-eight-year-old war hero….member of the greatest generation…..before the two of us even had a chance to talk? What do you think of me?" she paused, gazing at him for a moment. "No, don't answer that. But," she continued, "It would be a shame….if something untoward were to happen to him. And don't doubt that it would. You know….if it became necessary."
"Shut up."
"Or….." she stretched out the syllable, seemingly with relish, "I could always just pay him another friendly visit—he seemed lonely, you know. Maybe I could talk a bit more about his grandson's adventures. I bet he'd be fascinated to hear about your role in that German compound fiasco a couple years back, don't you? I wonder what he would think about what you've been doing."
"Don't even," he knew he shouldn't, but he glanced again at the door behind hm.
She chuckled darkly, and he knew he'd played his cards too openly. "Or, even better, do I just tell Lucy about it? I know she'd be interested….attempted kidnapping of innocent children, to trade for not-so-innocent political prisoners…. I mean….can you imagine what she'd think?"
Wyatt was surprised when she seemed to suddenly relent. She shook her head, shoving one hand in her pocket. He checked off a box in his head—now he had noted one of her weaknesses. He continued to watch her, not speaking...willing her to reveal more.
She dipped her chin quickly, "But then again, Lucy can be so sensitive about these things. She'd probably decide it was somehow all my fault-blame me. No," she nodded silently, "The better move would be to keep it simple, to just tell her who's been signing your checks the past seven years."
He stayed silent for a moment, "And what if I no longer care about any of that? What if I don't care about keeping that secret?" Check, he thought….possibly mate.
But she only laughed. "You know, you really should work on your lying." She started wandering again, peeking into his kitchen, taking another turn around his living room….and why the hell wasn't he stopping her?
She returned, to stand in front of him again. "I know you think poorly of me, but never doubt I love my daughter."
He scoffed.
She inclined her head toward him. "You know, it's one of the reasons I knew I couldn't watch this situation from the sidelines anymore….I knew I had to become personally involved."
"Personal involvement from you," he mimicked. "Who knew you held me in such high regard."
"Oh Wyatt," she sighed….you really have no idea about the issues you've caused me, do you?"
He shrugged, "Then why don't you enlighten me?"
"You know," she began, "Looking back at how Rittenhouse had done things in the past…I always thought that I could do it better….thought that I knew better. I mean, especially the 'let's tell the kids when they're 17 thing'. Ugh. Do you have any idea how belligerent and irrational a 17 year old can be? So I promised myself that I wouldn't do that with my Lucy. I'd wait longer to tell her. I'd let her get her schooling, experience life a bit in the real world…. Even let her meet Noah first—with a little well-timed machinations by our two families, of course, so that she felt like she had some control—that she had actually "chosen" Noah. You know how that girl is, when it comes to being in control. Yes I was very careful….and very proud of my grand plan, of how I had done things better.
But then here you come, and put a wrecking ball to it all in only a few months. I mean….seriously Wyatt! You chase Noah from the stage; you make sure she believes Rittenhouse to be some generic monster-in-the-closet—all before she even gets to experience it!" She laughed, lightly. "I mean, 'argh!', right? Well, you certainly taught me some humility, with regards to my belief that my grand plan in introducing my daughter to the family responsibility and privilege was somehow the better way. And the worst part? You do this—all of it—while you're working as an active asset for us!" She combed her fingers through her hair, "Argh indeed….that really was some incredible trick, you know."
"I had nothing to do with any of that—Rittenhouse showed their true colours, and Lucy turned away from it. She's smart, she's compassionate—and she saw right through your Rittenhouse façade. Your plan failed because she's too good for Rittenhouse….too good for you."
His voice raised on the last statement, and the words seemed to ring in the space between them. It made him feel better, that he had said it—until he realized that his words had caused no overt reaction on the woman's face. It made him nervous. He needed to stop the movement of the conversation's focus toward Lucy….and deflect Carol's thoughts back to him, instead.
"If you truly thought I was responsible for destroying what you had worked for….you would have just had me removed from the situation entirely. I don't doubt you could have."
She continued to gaze at him, the corners of her mouth rising into a tiny smile. "Oh, there were plenty of opportunities to kill you, of course; and plenty of reasons to do believe me—those reasons? I've considered every. Single. One of them. I'm sure Noah would have done it, if he had the stomach for that kind of thing."
"Noah's a jackass."
She chuckled, "Maybe he is. But I heard you were ever so rude to him, when he was patching up your dear friend Rufus...that was really uncalled for. But he did try so hard to get you fired….kept coming to me for advice on the subject…." She shrugged, slightly. "I said I'd help him of course—but, what I didn't tell him—and the reason that I didn't just have you killed—is that I actually think this thing, she looked meaningfully between Wyatt and his bedroom door, "It's cute."
He looked at her in confusion.
She flashed a tiny smirk at him. But we're getting side tracked here, aren't we? Let's get back to business. I think you have a question for me.
Wyatt's head was spinning, what could he do? He couldn't stop this….not right now, not when Lucy was in the next room….not after the day she had had.
"Wyatt, your question?"
Unless...
"You know what," he began, "You've managed to overlook yet another problem with your grand plan here—you, Rittenhouse, you no longer have the authority to order me around."
She laughed, "Why? Just because your Agent Christopher is doing a Rittenhouse round-up? I assure you, the orders I came to deliver to you tonight have still come through the official channels. I have all the authority I need."
He shook his head, "No, you don't. Because General Villenueva was nabbed in the sweep first thing this morning."
She smiled at him again, and it terrified him.
"Do you honestly believe he was the only general in Rittenhouse? Those duties were re-assigned to another General almost a full hour before Villenueva was even arrested."
He looked at her, incredulous.
"What, do you want me to show you the Memorandum of Notification? Oh wait….you don't have the clearance to see that, do you? Because of your place in the grand scheme of things….which is something you shouldn't forget."
"You know what?" he heard his volume rising, and tried to control it. He couldn't wake Lucy, not now. "I don't care who the orders are coming through….or what your memorandum says….because, you know what? I'm done. I'm out. Do you hear me? I'm no longer one of your precious assets."
He was stunned, when she began to laugh.
"You think this is funny?"
"I do, I do. That's the beautiful thing, isn't it? Because we both know that you will fulfill your primary assignment, no matter how you want to bluster about it now. Well….I know. And you'll know that too….as soon as you officially ask and get to hear the orders.
His anger was reaching a critical point….and yet he knew he couldn't risk waking Lucy. So he channeled the shout that had been about to spring from him into a low growl. "No." he shook his head, "I'm out," he repeated, "Kill me if you want to—"
She cut him off with another chuckle. "And why would I have you killed—when, no matter what, you're going to do exactly what we want you to do, exactly what I want you to do? Oh, this is rich. I really do have to thank Cahill for choosing you for this mission….if I see him again. Really makes things easier, cleaner, you know?"
"Yeah, well if you know how this is all going to go….why are you even here?" he took another step toward her, and she backed another step closer to the outside door, further away from Lucy.
"I told you….I want to do this officially."
"Yeah, well, that's never going to happen. So just….get out. Now. Get out of my apartment, because I refuse to hear the orders."
Her smile faded, and was replaced by a stern glare.
"Look, Logan—no more playing around. I'm here to deliver your new orders. If you're not ready to hear them yet….well…." she glanced around the apartment again, her gaze coming around to rest on Wyatt for a beat, and then flicking meaningfully toward the bedroom door. "Well….I'm happy to wait here, until the morning. Then you, me, Lucy….the three of us, can all have a nice, long chat." She clapped her hands together. "I could make waffles!"
His head felt like it was spinning again….what the hell was he going to do now—it was only by some kind of crazy luck that their rising voices hadn't already woken Lucy…..but if Lucy woke in the morning, to find her mother here….he couldn't let that happen. There were no good options….and he was running out of bad ones.
"Name the mission objectives," he finally spat out.
But Carol just kept staring at him, an expectant look on her face.
He stared back.
She shook her head, "What, I don't get a ma'am? And I was looking forward to it, too." She winked.
He started toward her, stopping momentarily as she raised her hand.
"You really do need to relax, Logan. The objectives—they're nothing too strenuous, I assure you. The primary mission, as you've probably guessed, is to protect Lucy. You've proved rather adept at that, before. It really is sweet, the way you try to take care of her….like you'd care for a family member….does she know how badly you've fucked that up in the past?"
He glared, his hands balling into tight fists.
She shrugged. "So….the secondary mission—ensure that Emma is successful in at least….let's say twenty-five percent of her missions." She looked at him sternly, then tipped her head to the side and smiled again. "You know what? Maybe even only fifteen percent to start would be acceptable….I wouldn't complain about that.
He shook his head.
She sighed. "You know Wyatt….it's about time you faced up to some facts. Lucy is going to come back to me….come back to Rittenhouse. Even now, with all her anger…. Let her focus all that anger on me….it just means she won't even notice what she herself is doing….what she herself is becoming. Because that's what Rittenhouse really is, you know-it's birthright. And birthright like that doesn't just disappear. Rittenhouse is power, it's privilege….it's control." She paused, and that word seemed to reverberate around the room. "And we both know how Lucy feels about that—she seeks it out, she can't even help herself—"
"What did you do to your daughter?" he spat in an angry whisper. "Did you actually plan that accident—"
She rolled her eyes. "You really should see someone about that paranoia, you know. No, I did not cause my daughter to have an accident….you don't think she sought control in her life before that? It's been a part of her since she was born….a part of her personally….it's genetics," she paused again, and smirked. "Her birthright….see what I did there?"
"Shut up...this isn't funny."
"You're right about that….it's very serious. This is my daughter's life we're talking about. So, as I said, she will return to Rittenhouse, and to me. You know, I'm not the monster you think I am….I love my daughter….she is my legacy." She took a step toward him.
He stood his ground, and remained silent.
"Which does bring me to another question. Are you in love with her?"
He stared, stone-faced. He kept every. Single. Compartment. nailed down….so that they couldn't betray him.
She nodded quickly, as though she had somehow seen something she was looking for in his response. "Hm. Well, what makes it so nice is….she thinks she's in love with you. A bit of puppy love, of course….I guess you could say my daughter has a bit of a crush on you. But….you must know that she could never truly care about someone like you, right? Still….it turns out I actually like knowing you're there, to protect her in this chaotic time." She pursed her lips briefly, as though making a decision. "So...if you play your cards right….you could stay with her…..once she returns to the fold. I'd allow that. Presuming, of course, that you respect the proper order of things."
"The proper order of things?"
"That she and Noah will be having a child together, preferably more than one."
"No, she won't." He shook his head. "You're wrong. You're….insane. Lucy won't ever do that….she's not going to…..have children with….or marry some guy she doesn't know….just because you tell her to….or just because Rittenhouse tells her to."
"Of course she will—their children will be her legacy, as she is mine. And it's not like she has to marry him—although the group is really looking forward to it. What better than a royal wedding to bring some cheer into a stressful time? But, if that's not what she wants, then who am I to judge, since I made the same decision—not to marry the father of my child—so many years ago."
"She's never going to do anything you want her to again!"
She seemed to scrutinize him for a moment, then she gave a derisive snort. "Why not? Because she's mad at me? Really, Logan? It's a minor bump in the road of our relationship….I assure you. Should have seen my reaction, when I learned about Rittenhouse. I know my daughter, and I raised her to think with her head, to do the sensible thing, to build her reputation and to do good works through that. Even as a little girl, even as a teenager, she knew she had a purpose….she didn't let herself get sidetracked by emotion-lead dalliances, she pointedly looked at Wyatt. At least, never for long.
"You….you destroyed her," he hissed motioning toward the bedroom door. "How could you do that to your own daughter?"
"I destroyed her? And what do you think you did….that night you came banging on my door, in the middle of the night? Telling her you were going to get Jessica back. Forsaking her, leaving her-and her life-to the whims of the fates….just so you could chase after your wife."
Wyatt was stunned. He opened his mouth, in an attempt to speak….but it seemed impossible. Realization of what had happened hit him hard in the gut, just as he forced out the words, "How do you know...?
"I heard the whole thing, of course."
"That was a private conversation.
She rolled her eyes. "We've been through this already, Wyatt. My house—my conversation."
"Yeah, well you don't get to talk about that—that's between us, we've already—" He broke off, realizing he didn't owe Carol any explanation….he was dealing with what he had said to Lucy on that staircase every day, and even though he had tried to describe to her, to apologize to her, and even though Lucy had forgiven…. Just thinking about it still caused him pain. Yet here Carol was, laughing and teasing when what she had done…. He shook his head in anger at the woman in front of him. "What is wrong with you?"
She arched an eyebrow at him, again.
You actually seem to be enjoying this, it's like you take some sick delight in damaging your daughter."
She rolled her eyes. "Please Wyatt, I like to think you know me better than that."
"I don't know you at all."
"Really? Because I think the two of us actually have a lot in common….so if you don't know me….maybe you don't really know yourself."
He shook his head. "You're delusional. After what you did to her….her whole life! And telling her now….without any concern for her….you….you're a….monster." He pulled the shout back to a quieter growl again. "How could you lie to her, hide this, hide everything, from her, like that?"
"Wow, Wyatt. Want to think back over the words you just said? You know as well as I do the lying's not the hard part; it's figuring out how and when to come clean….figuring out how to escape the lie while still protecting your interests. Or…." he watched as she raised that damn eyebrow again, "Before someone else forces your hand."
He could feel himself going pale, and he stepped away from her.
We're really not that different; you and I….and I think you know that.
"You just keep telling yourself that…."
She chuckled slightly at his comment, and his bravado suddenly faded as her words echoed in his brain, circling back in on him again.
The chuckle faded, but she continued to smile.
"Don't think so much Wyatt," she stepped toward him, grabbing his chin between her thumb and forefinger.
"All the worry lines will mar those pretty features."
He jerked away from her, as she turned without another word, and left
Wyatt stood in the hallway, just staring at the spot where Carol Preston had been standing.
Protecting his own interests….was that really what he was doing?
But he was trying to do what was best for Lucy, wasn't he?
What's best for Lucy. And what exactly is that, Logan?
The truth was what she needed, what she deserved. But to tell her now, tell her today—that couldn't be what was best, was it? Or was he just telling himself that, because it made it more convenient to protect his own interests, to protect himself?
He took a step back, leaning on the wall beside the bedroom door. He wanted to tell her now….he really did. And that wasn't protecting his own interests. But, was that truly best for Lucy? He closed his eyes and clenched his muscles, then slowly willed his body to relax, willed his racing heart to slow to something approaching normal again.
Opening his eyes, he knew he had to see her, to find his centre, to calm his mind again, so he quietly turned the knob and swung open the bedroom door. She was still sleeping soundly on her side, facing the doorway. He took another step closer, seeing how peaceful her face was in the light from the street that filtered through the window. Peaceful. So different from earlier that night.
He peered closer, realizing something had changed. Her face that had been so calm a moment earlier seemed to tense and twitch, and then she began to thrash, the covers becoming tangled in her arms.
He rushed to her side, then paused, not sure if he should let the dream pass on its own or wake her-concerned that waking her could frighten her even more.
Her eyes were still closed, and she calmed. Maybe the dream was gone? Then there was a sob like from earlier that night….and she called out his name….and then the thrashing started again.
That made his decision easy. "I'm here, I'm here Luce….s'just a dream, you're okay." He moved closer to her, continuing to murmur soothing words, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She half-opened her eyes. He met her gaze and moved his hand to stroke her cheek.
She whispered "You're here."
"I'm here," he replied, "I'll stay here 'till morning….with you."
She closed her eyes again, curling tightly against him.
"You're safe, Luce. Get some sleep…." He realized she was already asleep again, calm again.
He shifted slightly, and stroked his hand through her hair. And his mind drifted back to his thoughts from much earlier that evening. She needed someone to trust….and she had picked him. When he told her the truth….who would she trust then? And right now, so soon after learning about her mother….what would that do to her, to tell her about him? He was thinking of what was best for her, by not telling her now. Or was he still just protecting himself? And what was wrong with him—that he truly couldn't tell the difference between the two things anymore?
So, nothing too original in my "Lucy just found out and what does she do next" part of the story….but I had a whole lot of *fun* writing the Carol part of this chapter. I really want to know what people think! Please consider using the box to tell me—anything at all…..because apparently, I'm needy when it comes to reviews!
Also—rather weirdly—a line from the Sound of Music slipped in somehow….I decided to leave it, once I figured out that was why it sounded so familiar….because it really did seem to fit! Bonus points if you noticed it!